Say the Word, I'll Find the Scene
by atavist
Summary: Katara shouldn't have been rude to her new customer, no matter how busy the coffeeshop or how obnoxiously he ordered his latte. Then she shouldn't have found herself smiling every time he came back. She really shouldn't have started crushing on him. And she really, really, really shouldn't keep pretending she can't speak English.
1. Chapter 1

Heads up: the italics indicate English dialogue, everything else is Italian

* * *

Katara arrives for her shift at the coffee shop just in time, wrapping her apron around her waist as she hip checks the kitchen door open.

"Good morning, Kiara," Roberto says, appearing from behind the oven, sweaty hair in disarray. "How are you?"

"Stressed," Katara whines. "Why do you open so early?"

"Kiara," Roberto protests, his hands reaching for the sky in dramatic dismay. "I opened four hours ago."

"I woke up four minutes ago," Katara grumbles, reaching for some coffee filters, and ducking between the trays of hot pastries that Roberto is way too haphazard about stacking. Everything smells of chocolate and butter and other good things that Katara never lets herself eat.

"Young people spending half their lives in bed," Roberto despairs. "There is only one good reason to spend all day in bed." He holds up an emphatic finger. "One."

"Eleven am is not all day," she retorts. "And I did have a good reason for staying in bed. I was tired." She realizes, belatedly, that she hasn't helped herself at all when Roberto grins savagely. "Ugh," she groans. "Do you want me to take these ricciarelli out front?"

Roberto suddenly looks less gleeful. "Those are bruttimabuoni," he says, borderline offended.

"Same difference," Katara says, just to be an asshole.

"Get out of my kitchen," Roberto demands. "Stupid American girl."

"Canadian," Katara corrects.

"Same difference," Roberto shouts after her.

Katara walks out to the store, smiling when she's greeted with the regular chorus of _Kiara!_ that always makes her feel at home. She likes this job, likes this little shop, likes that it's far enough off the beaten track to stave away the tourist hordes, likes that she gets to use her Italian as she serves the locals who have been coming here since it opened. It's been a long time since she felt self-conscious when speaking—not to brag—her third language.

The usual mid-morning crew is scattered around the room. Valentina and Fredo are by the window, bickering loudly over a game of chess. Sal is hunched over his laptop, fingers hovering above the keyboard, typically oblivious to the adoring glances Annetta is giving him from her own table just six feet away. The only other occupied table is taken by Paolo and Ricci, brothers who retired from bus tour trade, and seem content to live out their lives sipping strong coffee while arguing over conspiracy theories.

There's just one person at the counter, a man of dubious age, and even more dubious style.

"New haircut, Cristiano?" Katara asks as she unloads the tray of pastries onto refrigerated shelves. "Sharp." It's more a commentary than a compliment, given that the parting has an inch of hair growing on the wrong side of the razor line.

"For the ladies, Kiara."

Cristiano has a lot of things going on for the ladies, such as a shiny gray suit that is always pressed to within an inch of its life, a gold bracelet that hangs garishly from a skinny wrist, and a stench of cologne that makes Katara's nose run. The only problem with Cristiano's 'for the ladies' schtick is that there never seem to be any ladies around him to appreciate it.

"Kiara," Valentina calls. "More coffee, please. And maybe one of those bruttimabuoni. I'll need to keep up my strength if I am to beat the best cheater in Rome today."

"Pfft," Fredo scoffs, puffing his chest out. "You are not playing yourself. The day you beat me without cheating will be—"

"Every day," Valentina says, snorting rudely. "I only let you win when I feel sorry for you, or when I don't want to listen to you crying like a newborn infant."

"You know who cries like a newborn infant? Your sister—"

"Don't bring my sister into this. Not when _your_ sister—"

It alarmed Katara, the first couple of times she'd seen Valentina and Fredo go at each other, but it didn't take long to learn that it was all volume and little heat. Apparently, they'd been arguing about chess all their married lives. The most serious fight was back in 1968 and had lasted four days. It had, Fredo will admit, been a bit of a rough start to their honeymoon.

"Did you see last night's episode of _Squali Nel Mare Empio_, Kiara?" Ricci asks when Katara begins to make her rounds with the coffee pot. "It was the season finale. Papa Dino was just about to marry Felicia and Luigi, when the door bursts open, and who is standing there but Cardinal Soffio. Only it's not him, because he peels his face off, revealing that he is, indeed, the real Papa Dino."

"I saw that coming," Valentina huffs. "Ever since the chemical lab explosion in the papal quarters that left the Papa Dino so disfigured that not even his own mother, Sister Anna-Maria, could recognize him. It was too unbelievable."

Personally, Katara thinks credibility was shown the door with the face peeling and the chemical lab in the pope's private rooms. But she's wise enough not to mention any of that. They take this show very seriously here at Roberto's, gathering to discuss themes and topics every Tuesday morning, like some sort of weird book club. About a demented soap opera. "You still sending in your storylines, Valentina?"

She scoffs in disgust. "Every week, honey. But they just send me back the same response. 'Thank you for your interest in our show. We currently have a team of talented writers who work together to create complex and diverse scripts for your enjoyment. At this time, we are not looking to recruit additional staff.'"

"'Go away, crazy lady, before we block your IP address,'" Fredo adds.

"Shut up, stupid man, before I start poisoning your food."

"Couldn't make it taste any worse," Fredo huffs.

"But did you see how beautiful Felicia was?" Annetta blurts, wistfully gazing at Sal. "How Luigi looked at her like she was his princess."

"Hold on, isn't she his daughter?" Katara asks, frowning. She's never seen a single episode of the show, but she's absorbed bits and pieces through osmosis.

"Not anymore," Paolo says. "Now she is his half twin sister."

"There are half twin siblings?"

"Same mother, different fathers," Valentina explains.

"Happened to my cat before," Sal adds without looking up from his screen.

"I feel like I should have guessed that," Paolo says, almost ruefully. "When the parcel arrived from the King of Finland on their birthday."

"Wait," Katara says, literally scratching her head. "Finland has a monarchy?"

"A secret one," Ricci says, nodding.

"Wow," she responds, meaning it, but she doesn't get to ask anymore because the door opens to let in a guy she's never seen before. All eyes fall on the newcomer as he tugs off his gray hard hat, revealing a shock of staticky black fluff. He blinks a little at the sudden attention and wipes his hands on his high-visibility vest, setting free a small cloud of dust.

Katara puts the coffee pot back on the burner and collects her notebook as the guy finds himself a table. "Good morning. Are you ready to order?"

The guy sighs while glaring at his own dirty fingernails. _"You speak English?"_ he asks with an American accent. Katara can feel her teeth set. She's long done with English-speaking tourists assuming that the rest of the world needs to speak their language, just in case they decide to drop by one day.

Katara hasn't answered by the time the American finishes scanning the plastic menu. He looks up then, blinking at her, like she's the one being rude here. His eyes are big and an odd pale amber, sharp with annoyance. _"Speako English?"_ he says obnoxiously.

Katara bites the inside of her cheek. She's pretty sure she's not allowed to bar anyone from the premises.

_"Fine,"_ the American grumbles, as if this is another unbearable sufferance to be endured. _"One latte and one of these."_ He points to a picture of Roberto's famous sfogliatella.

"Si," Katara nods politely and leaves for the kitchen where she steams the milk so it's barely warm and bypasses the tray of oven fresh sfogliatella in favour of yesterday's biscotti amaro – cookies loaded with coffee and almonds, so bitter that only Roberto's oldest and most loyal clientele ever ask for them.

"Where are you going with that, Kiara?" Roberto asks as she makes her way back out front.

"To the trash," she answers. _Speako English_. Speako_ fucking_ English. Too damned lazy to even learn _Parla Inglese_. What a fucking—

_"I didn't order this,"_ the American says when it's put in front of him. He pokes suspiciously at the biscuit and looks up at her. _"That wasn't the picture I pointed to."_

Katara stares back at him innocently.

_"I didn't…"_ the guy begins. _"Oh, never mind."_ She turns away, but she can hear spluttering and choking, followed by some hacking coughs.

_"Fuck,"_ the guy gasps and swigs at his coffee. _"Ah, man, this is almost cold. Shit. Fuck this day anyway."_

Katara smirks down at the menus she's pretending to organize, the little flare of satisfaction soothing her temper. Ten minutes later, the guy leaves with a scowl in her direction.

Katara clears his table and scoffs at the exact change that was left behind. Knowing the idiot actually paid for what he got makes up for the lack of tip.

"Pretty boy," Valentina says mildly when Katara comes back from the kitchen.

"Pretty asshole," she snorts.

"Americano?"

"Si."

"And what? We no speak Americano?"

_"We no want him to come back,"_ Katara mutters to herself.

::

He comes back anyway, the following morning, seemingly undeterred by Katara's rudeness and bad service. "_Just going to wash my hands_," he says after putting his phone and hat down on the same table he sat at yesterday, like he's claiming it as his own space.

"You do know that there are thousands of coffee shops in Rome, right?" Katara says, continuing to fold napkins in half.

_"See,"_ the guy says, holding up his dusty hands. _"Going to wash them, okay? I'll be back in a minute, and then you can screw up my order again."_

"I mean," Katara continues, shrugging. "I feel it would almost be selfish of us to keep your business all to ourselves."

_"Can you keep an eye on my phone? The one I'm pointing to. That phone there, not some other phone that looks and tastes nothing like that phone."_

"I could write you a list of good places. How would you like me to organize them? Geographically? Alphabetically?"

The guy narrows his eyes suspiciously. _"That's a very long way of saying yes. But, whatever. Where's the restroom, the uh, toilet."_

"Go back out the door you just came through, turn left, or right, your choice, and keep going for about three miles. Or five. Or ten."

_"What?"_ the guy says impatiently. _"Look, toilet. Where is the toilet?"_ He says it like a British person might, no softening of the consonants. Toy-lit.

Katara takes a breath and points to the door across from the kitchen.

_"Right, thanks. Grazie."_

"Hurry back," she drawls, walking over to the table to set it. Or haphazardly throw cutlery onto it.

"Hey, Kiara," Valentina says suddenly. "This boy is a mystery, no?"

Katara frowns at her. "A mystery?"

"Si. He works in construction. Do you not think that is strange?"

"No," she answers. "There are roadworks going on behind the plaza. He probably works there."

"But how would an American, who speaks no Italian, get a job in Italian construction?"

"I don't know," Katara says, shrugging. "But in the grand scheme of things, it's hardly a cardinal led rebellion to overthrow the pope because he's hiding the devil's baby in the Sistine Chapel."

"Ack," Valentina says, waving her hands about. "Look at his stuff."

"Really missing your soap opera, huh?"

"His stuff, Kiara. Look at his stuff!"

Katara rolls her eyes, but decides to indulge Valentina a little. She glances quickly at the still closed door of the restroom, and flips over the helmet to look inside. "Oh my god," she whispers, setting it down as it was, and taking a step back.

"What?" everybody gasps, wide-eyed and chin hands.

"Well," Katara says slowly. "I don't know how to say this. But."

"What?"

"On the inside of his hat are some letters and numbers. I've seen them before, and I know what they mean. But I never thought. I can't—" she stops like she can't bear to go on.

"WHAT?"

Katara swallows and croaks out, "His hat size is fifteen and a half inches."

The collective outrage can probably be heard in the restroom, everyone hissing their displeasure at her, except for Cristiano who nods wisely and says, "Yes, Americans have big heads."

"Kiara," Valentina sighs, like Katara is the most crushing disappointment in her life.

"It's a hat, Valentina. Not a clue to crack the Da Vinci Code. What did you—" She stops, a little startled when the phone lights up and vibrates on the table. She looks down, and then quickly away, but not before she's seen what's on the screen.

**Father**: _Zuko, you are breaking your mother's heart. How could you be so selfish?_

Zuko. What kind of name is that?

"What does it say?" Fredo asks.

"I didn't read it," Katara lies, crossing the shop's floor and busying herself with some coffee beans. The American—Zuko—might be an asshole, but that doesn't give her free reign to violate his privacy.

"But you saw something," Valentina presses, leaning across the table. "What did you see, Kiara?"

"Was it something terrible?" Paolo asks.

"Did he kill someone?" Ricci wonders, a little too hopefully.

"I didn't see anything," Katara insists, just as the hand-dryer blasts to life.

The restroom door opens and Zuko comes back out to six pairs of eyes on him. He glances around slowly, and the whole scene grows decidedly suspect when everyone immediately looks away, like their hands or coffee cups or laps are suddenly fascinating.

_"Okay,"_ Zuko mutters, drawing it out. Oh...kaaaaay.

He walks to his table just as the phone chimes a reminder that there is an unread message waiting. Katara glances up, watching as Zuko grips the back of the chair so hard that it pulls the color from his hands. He's deathly still as he reads what's on the phone, his face a horrible sort of shocked. He doesn't move until the door opens, and then he's running out before it closes again.

"Sorry you can't stay," she shouts after him. "Please feel free to call again and waste some more of my time." She grabs her notepad and goes over to help the customers who got in just before Zuko got out.

"Can you get me a highchair, Kiara?" Lotta asks, trying to lower her bags onto the floor without dropping her toddler son.

"You want me to take him?" Katara offers.

"Probably not," Lotta sighs. "He's feeling cranky today." Lucca makes a liar of her by babbling cheerily, and Katara knows that Lotta's just trying to spare her feelings. The kid pitches epic fits when anyone that isn't his mother tries to hold him, but he's happy enough to give Katara a sticky high five.

"Here," Katara says, pulling the highchair up and relieving Lotta of some of her bags.

"Thanks," she says, shaking out her arms. "Cappuccino and a warm milk, please, Kiara. Small vanilla gelato, in a bowl. And what's going on in here? Who was that boy that passed us?"

"He's new," Valentina says gleefully. "All we know is that he's a mysterious American, and he just got some news on his phone that made him run away."

"Oh?" Lotta says, turning curious eyes on Katara.

"Kiara knows more," Valentina says with a shrug. "But she's not sharing because she has a crush on the boy."

"Or because she doesn't care," Katara says, mostly to herself. "Or because whatever was on that phone is nobody's business."

"Kiara has a crush?" Lotta cries. "Ah, Kiara, this is great news, no? I worry about you, going home to your little room every night and sitting in front of your books until the sun almost rises again. You are too young to be so old. So serious, with your liquid food and your panpipes yoga and your same sad songs on your out of tune guitar."

"Hey," Katara says, indignant. They're not the same songs. She learned a third cord recently, and is making pretty decent headway through _Knockin' on Heaven's Door_.

"See?" Valentina beams. "We are just trying to bring a little joy and passion to your life, Kiara. Why do you fight the joy and—"

"She's cheating again," Katara tells Fredo.

::

Katara lives next door to the coffee shop in another building owned by Roberto, a boutique type of place where old furnishings are part of the charm. She has a room overlooking the courtyard on the fifth floor, her own bathroom, and a big bed that she's currently sulking on.

Her life isn't empty, far from it. Her shift had ended at seven, and she'd hung around for an hour, helping Roberto to clean out the ovens in exchange for kitchen privileges that allowed her to whip up a cobb salad, a raspberry smoothie, and a shake for the morning. She went for a walk that turned into a run as the crowds eased near the river. When she got home, she took a shower, and ate her dinner while sitting on the window-ledge, peering into Alessandro's room to watch some soccer. She had no idea who was playing, but the blue guys won.

It's already eleven, and she still has big plans for the rest of this night. There's a huge pile of laundry scattered around the room that she should gather up. Separate the darks and the whites, and have it ready to bring down to the washer-dryer in the shop's basement that Roberto allows her to use. And then she'll strum around on her guitar, try something new—_Leaving on a Jet Plane_, maybe. She'll skype Aang and Toph after midnight, and wait until one to try her parents. They should be home from work by then, and Sokka will probably be around. She might watch a movie on her laptop before she falls asleep, or maybe get through some of her prescribed reading list for the summer. She's heard good things about _Il Cane di Terracotta_, and she's enjoyed Camilleri's other—

Katara grabs a pillow and pulls it over her head, squeezing tight. Her life isn't empty; it's just duller than a great thaw.

::

The delivery truck has some sort of disaster this morning, which means that everything is behind schedule. By the time Katara arrives at work, Roberto is pulling his hair out and demanding that she whip the cream, fill the pastries, turn down the oven, load the dishwasher, get out to the store, get back here, _where do you think you're going_?

"Kiara," Valentina calls when Katara makes a dash to the counter to drop off some cakes.

"Momento," Katara shouts back.

"Kiara," Cristiano says, almost a plea.

"Momento," Katara snaps, jogging back to the kitchen. Jesus.

_"Kiara!"_

Katara's head swerves to where that came from, sighing when she sees Zuko sitting in the same spot for the third day in a row.

_"Service?"_ he says, almost with a sneer.

"You'll be last," she promises before going into the kitchen to be yelled at some more by Roberto. Ten minutes later, she's back on the floor being yelled at by her customers.

"I'm going as fast as I can," she huffs as she places jugs of cream and cubes of sugar on tables while waiting on the espresso machine to do its thing. She hands out cakes and forks, and froths milk for cappuccinos and lattes, and does her best to ignore the hum of complaining and the non-stop ringing of Zuko's phone.

"The usual?" Katara asks Annetta, stopping by her table.

_"Are you serious?"_ Zuko says, clicking his fingers. _"Hello! I've been sitting here for twenty minutes now. She just walked in."_

"You can sit there for another twenty as far as I'm concerned," Katara mutters. "And either answer that phone or shut it off. Nobody wants to hear any more of your dumb ringtone."

"Oh," Annetta says uncertainly. "What did he say? Was he here first? I can wait."

Katara shakes her head. "He's insisting that I serve you now. He doesn't mind waiting."

"Isn't that nice!" Annetta declares, beaming at Zuko. "Thank you." Zuko blinks back at her and furrows his eyebrows at Katara, but he goes back to scowling quietly down at the table until she arrives to take his order.

_"Finally."_

"You really are the rudest person I've ever met in my life," she says, flipping her notebook open.

_"I don't even know what you're saying,"_ Zuko grumbles. _"I don't speak Italian."_

"You barely speak English," Katara returns, smiling.

_"Okay, whatever. Look, I'd like a latte, only hot this time. Hot. You know, piccante. And one of these."_ He takes a menu and points at the sfogliatella. _"See, this one. I want this one. Not that… whatever the fuck that was the other day. This one."_ His finger jumps noisily on the plastic.

"Molto bene," Katara says politely.

_"Thank you,"_ Zuko says, and then a little softer, "Grazie."

It's a small concession, a little indication that maybe this kid has some fucking manners, and Katara rewards it by steaming the milk until it's hot. She serves up the coffee alongside another biscotti amaro.

Zuko eyes the pastry. _"Seriously? Are you doing this on purpose?"_ he asks, but he's already dunking it petulantly into his coffee. _"Fuck it,"_ he says and chomps on the soggy mess. _"This tastes like ass, just so you know."_

Katara does well not to roll her eyes. Zuko has to be around her own age, no more than twenty-one, and there's something about him that you'd have to look twice to see. His hair is like the brash wrapping on a gift, hiding pretty eyes and a soft mouth. It seems like a nice mouth. Until he opens it to speak.

_"What the fuck ever,"_ he says. _"I'm hungry."_

"Not to mention charming. And apparently, deaf," Katara says, looking down at Zuko's phone when it sings again. A picture of a mean looking older man with a weirdly pointy beard is flashing across the screen. Zuko glowers at it, and then at Katara.

"If you need anything else," Katara says in a helpful tone, shuffling away. "Please feel free to fuck off somewhere else and get it."

"Who is calling him, Kiara?" Valentina asks.

Katara pulls down a mountain of napkins that need folding. Now that she finally has a minute, she might try those swans that Aang creates in seconds. "Don't know, don't care."

"A lover, I think," Ricci says. "Someone who has hurt him a great deal. See how he looks away, as if he can't bear to see what is looking back at him."

"Is there a picture?" Paolo asks. "Did you see? Is she very pretty, Kiara?"

"No," Katara says.

"Ah," Cristiano says. "That is why he's sad. An ugly girlfriend would make any man sad."

"You are a pig, Cristiano," Annetta says hotly. "Love is not only about what is on the outside. It's about what is in the heart and the mind—"

"And the brassiere and the panties," Cristiano leers, because Annetta is right. He is a pig.

Annetta slams her cup down on the table. "You are the most insufferable, disgusting—"

"It's his father," Katara says, derailing this before it gets out of hand. "That's who's calling him."

"And he doesn't answer his father," Fredo spits. "He has no respect."

"I've been saying," she shrugs.

"Maybe his father is making him marry the ugly woman," Ricci suggests.

The door opens for Lotta and Lucca just then, and Katara greets them enthusiastically, grateful to escape this conversation.

_"Hey,"_ Zuko says sullenly. _"How come they get the VIP treatment?"_

"How come you won't shut your face," Katara replies.

"Kiara," Lotta scolds. "Why do you speak to your boy like this?"

"Because her boy's father is forcing him into an arranged marriage with an ugly girl," Paolo tells her.

"Oh, Kiara," Lotta says, clasping her chest. "I'm so sorry."

That's it.

IT.

Katara tugs her apron off and throws it behind the counter. "I'm taking my break. My very long break. Possibly even my forever break."

::

It's Groundhog Day the following morning. Zuko is sitting where he sits, ignoring his blaring phone and eating his cookie without complaint. He seems oblivious to his guest role in the conspiracy theories that are growing more and more bizarre. Like, bizarre enough for the plot writers of _Squali Nel Mare Empio_ to reject outright, on grounds of sheer ludicrousness.

"He is sad," Ricci says. "Perhaps his father is a drug lord who has wronged other villains, and these people want to take this boy for revenge, but he escaped and is living undercover as a construction worker in Rome."

"I think that was your father," Valentina says.

"My father made his money in figs," Ricci cries.

"Your father made his money from what was hiding in the figs," Valentina snorts.

Ricci throws down his cup, and Katara wonders why Roberto doesn't just serve all drinks from plastic tumblers. The breakage has to be eating into his profits. "I haven't been this insulted since—"

"Since she said the same thing last week," Paolo finishes. "What? He was my father, too."

"Perhaps Ricci is right," Fredo muses. "And the revenge the other villain seeks is not to harm the boy, but to take him as a son-in-law, so that he can finally get rid of the ugly daughter."

"Pretty sure the other villain is coming out the wrong end of that deal," Katara mutters. "Not the mention, the poor daughter."

Cristiano clicks his fingers. "Yes! The daughter who is flat in the front and the rear."

"Pig!" Annetta shouts.

"Right," Katara says, crossing the floor before she can give it any more thought. Because enough, just enough. She really can't listen to any more of this nonsense, and she's had it up to here with the Evanescence ringtone. And the combination might just make her head implode. She picks up the ringing phone and presses the answer key before Zuko can even react.

"Speako," she says sarcastically and throws the phone back to Zuko. She immediately regrets it when he stares like she's just slapped him. Regrets it even more when she hears a desperate, tinny voice coming from two feet and five thousand miles away.

_"Zuko? Hello? Are you there, son? Zuko?"_

Katara walks away before she does something else dumb. "No," she says, wagging a finger threateningly at her captive audience. "No...updates. Jesus. Can't any of you be...be...normal?"

"Like you?" Valentina smirks. Which is probably fair, given that Katara is the one shouting and flapping her hands, and she's also the one stomping across the floor and grabbing a pastry from the kitchen.

"Taking five," she tells Roberto, and goes to the stairwell for some peace and gluttony.

It really is the wrong type of pastry, she thinks as she shoves it into her mouth. There's flour and sugar and fresh cream, and none of those things ever did her stomach any favors. But it does wonders for her mood, and she's feeling a little less nuts when she gets back to work in a completely silent shop.

"What?" she says, unnerved.

Valentina mimes rubbing at her eyes with closed fists while nodding over at Zuko.

Shit. Katara takes a breath, and walks to Zuko's table. "Okay, look," she says. "I shouldn't have done that."

_"What?"_ Zuko looks up and blinks red-rimmed eyes at her. _"No. I don't need anything else, thanks."_ There are miserable, angry streaks blotching across his cheekbones.

"I'm sorry," Katara says.

_"I'm good, thanks,"_ Zuko says, standing to throw some money on the table. He grabs his hat and phone, and ducks by her to get to the door.

Katara feels helpless as she watches him leave. "This is your fault," she says, pointing a finger around the shop. "You are all going to me make as crazy as you are."


	2. Chapter 2

Katara gets stuck the following morning. It's not the first time it's happened, and Roberto will come looking for her sooner or later. Until then, there's not really anything to be done except sit on the bags of laundry and send the _sooner_ out to the universe. While trying not to panic.

"Kiara," Roberto shouts, bursting through the door. "You did it again."

"It happened again," Katara corrects. "I didn't do anything."

"I think this elevator has an allergy to you," Roberto continues, rattling the cage door. "I told you to stick to the stairs. You can't break the stairs."

"I had to get all this laundry down. And I didn't break the elevator."

"Well, I don't see anyone else in there."

"There isn't room for anyone else in here," Katara snaps. There isn't; the car is only one person wide and two people deep. It reminds her of a coffin, which reminds her of the panic licking her stomach. "Do you think you can call the guy, and get—" She's cut off by Roberto clapping his hands excitedly and running for the door.

"I know what," he calls over his shoulder. "Everything will be okay. Just wait there, Kiara. Don't go anywhere."

"Well, I mean, if I get a better offer," Katara huffs. She closes her eyes to visualize her breathing, focus on it until everything else fades away. There's nothing but the movement of her chest as it pushes out and collapses in, out and in. Full inhale, full exhale. Inhale, exhale. She can see her heart slowing down, only for it to almost stop completely when Roberto comes crashing back in the door.

"See," Roberto says, pushing a confused looking Zuko in front of him. He starts to gesticulate between Zuko and the foot of space separating the elevator from the ground. "He can fix this. Tell him to fix this, and we'll pay him in free coffees." He pauses. "Maximum of five."

But Zuko seems to have figured out what Roberto wants without any help from Katara. _"Oh,"_ he says, pointing to himself. _"Yeah, no, I'm not in construction. You need an engineer. I'm just a third-year architect student. I work in restorations. Well, more like volunteer in exchange for hard hats and these very fetching vests."_

Roberto looks to Katara for some sort of translation. "He can't help," she says, rolling her neck. "He does restoration projects."

"Gah," Roberto exclaims and throws Zuko a disappointed look before leaving again.

_"He's gone to get an engineer, right?"_ Zuko says, watching him go._ "Maybe I'll stay with you in case there's a fire. You'd cook in there."_ He steps up to the gate and cranes his head to peer up at the ceiling of the elevator. _"Neat system. Holeless hydraulic, I think. Don't see these too often in the US."_ His hands pat the pockets of his dark jeans, pulling out a notebook and a small pencil. _"Cool building. You live here? I live in a hostel, which is really just a big shed."_ His voice fades as he moves away, and Katara closes her eyes again. It's getting really hot in here and her back is starting to itch. The air feels like it's too thick to be taken in, like it might get stuck in her throat. She's edging a pretty big panic attack.

She tries a different focus, tuning out everything but the soft sounds in the hall. The swish of Zuko's pencil as it flies over the pages of his notebook, the little click of his phone as he snaps photos, the depth of his tone as he carries on talking. _"...all originals...someone who studied Bernini...maybe seventeen fifties, probably not long before Baroque went out of style...he created David... not the David, as in the enormous naked ripped dude in Florence... that's Michelangelo…"_

Katara can sense herself drift, as if her head is stuffed with cotton. She can't even hear Zuko's voice anymore, so he's probably already gone—

_"Hey, hey!"_

She jolts, startled by the sudden shout and the appearance of Zuko's face almost pressed against the cage door. _"Shit, you're not okay in there, are you? Fuck. When is your boss coming back?"_ He looks briefly over his shoulder. _"Hey, you do know that you're perfectly safe, right? I can't fix this elevator, but I have a pretty good idea of how it works. Chances are, it's just the stabilizer sensor, which means that the elevator can't move. It's frozen. You're not going to plunge to your death, or anything. I mean, even if you were, which you're not, you'll only plunge about ten inches before you hit the ground, and you seem pretty tough. No problem, you could absorb the impact."_

Not helping, Katara thinks.

_"I'm probably not helping,"_ Zuko says. _"But if there is a fire, and we have to get you out of there, I can break this door down."_

Roberto would kill them.

_"Although, your landlord would probably kill us."_ He tosses his air out of his eyes, staring intently at her. _"I don't think you're worried about falling. I think you might be claustrophobic."_

Since Katara was a kid and Sokka locked her in the closet under the stairs.

_"You probably got locked in somewhere small when you were a kid,"_ he says, flicking through his phone. _"How about some soothing music? I'll find something on Youtube, and we'll get you calmed right down. How about some whales? They're relaxing, right?"_

No phone signal in here.

_"I can't get a signal."_ Zuko waves his phone in the air without success. _"Should I make some whale sounds for you? What do they sound like anyway?"_ He opens his mouth, tips his head back and forces the weirdest howl from the back of his throat. _"No, wait. I'll have another go."_ He does, and Katara can't help but laugh, sharp and incredulous.

_"I know what you're thinking,"_ he says with a smirk. _"How did Shamu get in here, right?"_

Not even close.

_"It must be working because you're starting to look a little more with us. Actually, now that I think of it—"_ she watches as he goes fishing in his pockets again. _"Aha!"_ He holds up a battered orange that's more oblong than spherical. _"Want to have lunch with me? Excuse the nails—it's just dust."_

Katara's sitting on her dirty laundry while marinating in her own sweat. She can handle a little dust.

Zuko's hands are deft and clever as they strip the skin, doing most of the work with the pads of his thumbs. _"I think it might be best if I keep talking. I know you can't understand a word I'm saying, but that'll probably work for both of us."_ He begins threading the orange segments through the bars of the door, where Katara's grateful fingers can collect them. He keeps only the last piece for himself. _"You need more than that. Your blood sugar is probably tanking right now."_ He puts the peel back into his pockets, which is a sure fire way to attract every wasp in Rome.

_"I'll have to put those in the trash later, or every wasp in Rome is going to be after me,"_ he says. _"So, I'm Zuko, and you're Kiara, right?"_ He points to himself—_"Zuko."_—and then to her—_"Kiara."_

Katara nods.

_"And you were an asshole yesterday when you answered my phone. But you actually did me a huge favor, so thanks."_ He holds up his one piece of orange, like he's making a toast. _"Bon appetit."_

Katara's already sucking on the juice while chewing the pulp. It's like eating citrusy heaven.

_"That was my dad calling,"_ Zuko continues. _"We haven't spoken for a while because I chose to come here instead of staying in Caldera for my sister's wedding. Azula got married the other day. I was supposed to be in her wedding party, along with her maid of honor Ty Lee. _

_She and Azula have been best friends since they were kids, so Ty Lee and I were too by default. We did everything together from learning to walk to going to school to getting caught with fake IDs to her sleeping with my girlfriend."_ He glances up, a sick look on his face. _"I caught them. Like, walked in on them."_ Zuko wrinkles his nose. _"Ew,"_ he says. _"It was gross, and I don't get it, you know? Like, if you're into that, fine. But then why was Mai even with me in the first place? And Ty Lee is my best friend, and she's supposed to love me. The whole thing was a shitshow."_

Katara chews another orange section, trying to imagine how shitty she'd feel if her family betrayed her like that. The worst thing Sokka ever did to her was lock her in that closet, and maybe it's time to let that fully die.

_"Ty Lee begged me not to tell anyone, and I didn't. Never told anyone before now. Not even my sister. Our family just think that she and I had a dumb falling out, but I just couldn't stand there on the altar with her, pretend that everything was okay. No way."_ Zuko sighs heavily and his jaw works silently for a few seconds. _"So I came here, and now everyone is mad at me. Everyone. You're so stubborn, Zuko. You're so irresponsible, Zuko. This is why we never let you have a dog, Zuko. You're breaking your mother's heart, Zuko. Ugh. They all think I'm having a great time, being Indiana Fucking Jones in Italy. But."_ He stops, and swallows painfully. _"I'm miserable most of the time. I just miss them all so much, and I hate that they're mad at me, and I hate that things will never be the same again between me and Ty Lee, and I hate that I can't say why."_

It cuts Katara, how dull and small he sounds, and it also dawns on her that it's time to end this charade—maybe even long past it—but she should say something to this kid who's spilling his heart onto the floor to stop her having a panic attack. Something in English. But whatever she is going to say curdles in her throat when Zuko speaks again.

_"Actually, I'd die if anyone knew about that. Thank god you don't understand English. Not that I'd be telling you any of this if you did. And, I'm sorry about that first day, that speako English thing. I was on a streak of pissing absolutely everybody off, and it was the wedding day, and I was all, you know."_ He throws his hands up and waves them a little. _"But it's not all bad now. I spoke with my dad, and my mom called me after, and it's still...not great. But it's as good as it can be right now. So, there's that. And oh, hey, the cavalry."_

Katara looks up as Roberto reappears with the engineer. "Her again," the engineer scoffs. "I thought you barred her from using the elevator."

_"And I think that's my cue to go,"_ Zuko says, stretching a little. _"I missed my coffee, though. You owe me."_

Katara pushes herself up quickly, too quickly. Her head still feels a little muzzy. "Zuko," she says, pressing her hands into the gaps where his were seconds before. "Grazie."

_"You're welcome,"_ Zuko says, his smile lighting up his face, taking the gloom out of it. And Katara's going to blame the dizziness for how that makes her stomach swoop.

::

When Zuko comes into the shop again, he's talking loudly into the phone he has jammed between his ear and his shoulder. Although maybe not loudly – just amplified in the sudden, curious silence.

"Nothing to see here, people," Katara says warningly.

"What's he saying?" Paolo whispers.

"Something about where he's hidden the bodies of all the other silly yentas that have taken an unhealthy interest in his life."

"Kiara," Ricci complains.

"I am not listening to his private conversation," she says, clipped.

_"Morning, lovely,"_ Zuko says as he passes by. Katara blinks, and turns to watch him settle into his seat. _"Not you, Azula. I was talking to the cute waiter who works here. I saved her life yesterday."_

Katara grabs a cloth and begins wiping down some nearby tables.

"Can I have a cappuccino, Kiara?" Cristiano asks.

"Quiet," she hisses.

"But—"

"No," she huffs. "Maybe. In a minute."

"Oh, so _now_ you're listening," Valentina smirks, her eyes on the chess pieces in front of her.

I'm trying to, Katara thinks.

_"Nah,"_ Zuko laughs. _"She's always salty as fuck, though. We have this thing going on where she deliberately gives me the wrong order every time...No, I thought she was just terrible at her job, too. At first...Joke's on her though. I actually really like the cookies she thinks I hate..."_

Katara turns her back to hide her smile.

"Cappuccino, Kiara," Cristiano reminds her.

She nods and reaches for a clean jug to steam some milk. She tries to keep it as quiet as possible until Zuko finishes his call.

"Finally," Cristiano sighs, and then gapes when Katara slaps his hands away.

"Not for you," she says, bringing the coffee to Zuko, along with a sfogliatella.

_"Thanks,"_ Zuko says, moving his hat and phone out of the way. _"Oh. That's. Is that the thing I ordered the first day? And the second? And probably the third and fourth?"_ His nose twitches as he gives the plate a considerably unfriendly look. _"It's just that I like the other things better now. The cookie things?"_

The cookie things. Roberto would pull his own hair out if he heard that.

_"You know,"_ Zuko continues slowly. _"That's weird. I was just talking to my sister, and I said. I mentioned—"_ He narrows his eyes suspiciously. _"It's almost as if…"_

"Almost as if what?" Katara asks innocently, not so much as flinching when he stares her down.

_"No, never mind,"_ Zuko says, shaking his head.

"Okay, well, enjoy," she says, her smile syrupy sweet. "Hope it's not too salty for you."

She can feel the sass in her step when she leaves to clear more tables and brew more coffee. "And what is wrong with your face?" she asks Cristiano, pointing at the strange, grimacing thing he has happening.

"I'm smiling at you in the hope that it gets me what I want," Cristiano says. "It worked for him."

"Maybe save that for the ladies," Katara suggests, reaching for the milk, and then abandoning it again when there's a crash from the kitchen. The next five minutes consist of her being shouted at by Roberto for leaving her laundry bag by the door, and she can stay to clean up the tray of cannoli that are scattered all over the floor and the clean clothes, and Jesus Christ, _get back out to the shop where she's needed_.

She goes straight to Zuko's table, smirking when she sees that only half the pastry has been eaten. He seems to have forgotten about it anyway, and is busy with the same notebook he had yesterday.

"You didn't like the—" she stops abruptly. "Stupefacente," she says without thinking.

Zuko looks up at her with slightly wounded eyes. _"Stupid?"_

"No," Katara says quickly, pointing at the opened page. "Um, fantastico. Brillante." It's a pattern from an ornate tile, a small sketch of something bigger, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. The detail is amazing, even in charcoal and shade. "Magnifico."

_"Well,"_ Zuko says, looking decidedly more pleased. _"If you feel like being nice, I'm not going to argue."_ He rubs absently at the graphite staining the side of his hand. _"It's the project I'm working on right now. Up at the church."_ His face is soft, as is the smile that he bites off his lips. _"I'm glad you like it."_

"Very much," she says.

He smiles again and begins to gather up his belongings.

"Momento," Katara says, running quickly to collect a paper bag from the counter. "For you," she says, holding it out to him.

He looks inside curiously. _"Oh, the cookie things. Thanks, Kiara."_ He digs around in his pocket for his wallet.

"No," she says, shaking her head dramatically. "No, grazie, Zuko."

Zuko looks confused.

"Grazie," Katara repeats, pointedly.

_"Oh. Is this for yesterday? You don't have to do that. It was no big deal."_

"Actually, it was," she says.

_"Well, let me pay for the cookies, at least."_

She shakes his head again, giving his wallet a filthy look.

_"Okay. Thank you. But here, take this."_ He opens his notebook and pulls out the page she was admiring. _"Consider it a tip. And because you like it so much."_ He's almost shy as he hands it over.

"I couldn't," Katara begins, and then stops because Zuko might get offended by any objections. And because she really wants the sketch. "Grazie," she says, taking it.

"Prego," Zuko replies proudly.

"Hey, Kiara, what are you whispering about? What did you get?" Valentina asks when Zuko leaves. "Did you buy him lunch?"

"Okay," Katara says, putting the sketch into the large pocket of her apron and clapping her hands for attention. "Listen up, everyone. I'm going to tell you everything I know. Zuko's argument with his father was one of those silly arguments all families have. They've sorted it out now. He's a student spending his summer here because he's studying architecture, and he's got a placement on some restoration works. He gave me this sketch because I said I liked it. I'll pay for his coffee and pastry because he kept me company when I got stuck in the elevator yesterday. There's biscotti in the bag I just gave him, because he likes them. And that's the whole story. I'm sorry it's not more thrilling."

"There is no ugly girl?" Paolo asks, disappointed.

"No ugly girl, no drug lords, no other villains, no forced marriages. No mystery whatsoever."

"Ah, Kiara," Valentina says mildly. "That's not true. The greatest mystery has yet to be solved. The one where we figure out why you are still pretending that you don't understand Zuko when he speaks to you." She smirks victoriously when Katara blushes a shade that feels ugly on her face. "See, you are the one creating the drama now. We're all just watching the show." With a quick flick of her wrist, she knocks over her husband's king. "Checkmate."

Katara's struggling for a reply when Cristiano gets up and walks behind the counter. "I'm just going to make my own cappuccino."


	3. Chapter 3

Katara blows fifty percent of her weekly wage on a spa experience the following day. Juice breakfast, yoga, seaweed bath, meditation in the Japanese roof garden, followed by a Swedish massage.

"You're full of tension," Nina informs her while she works on her knots.

"My shoulders are feeling it," Katara admits.

"Your shoulders, your back, your thighs. Everywhere, Kiara. You are a big ball of stress."

"I blame the people I work with," Katara sighs.

"Most people do," Nina muses, and sets about sweeping and kneading the strain from her body. Katara sighs some more and inhales the soothing lavender scents, drifting off to the soft sounds of—

"You're tensing up again," Nina scolds.

"Is that whale music?"

"Yes. You don't like it?"

Katara's not sure if she does or not. She just doesn't really want to think about whales right now. "Do you have something else?" Maybe a crying baby? Nails scraping down a blackboard? An angle grinder?

"Sure," Nina says. "But I think we might upgrade your thirty minutes to an hour."

::

_"I met you when you're not here,"_ Zuko says when Katara comes back to work the next morning. _"The better you, because he speaks English."_ He grins. _"And also is much nicer."_

Katara has no idea what he's talking about.

_"Aang, the waiter who works when you don't. He filled me in on all your secrets."_

Every bit of yesterday's hard won zen crashes out of Katara, leaving her frozen, snared.

_"Apparently,"_ Zuko continues. _"You might be in love with someone who is being forced to marry some ugly member of a drug cartel. Something about a debt. I don't know."_ He scrunches up his nose. _"Some of it might have got lost in translation. At least, I hope it did."_

"Oh my god," Katara says through clenched teeth. "What is happening."

_"He also introduced me to everyone, and now I have friends. Ciao, Valentina, Ricci, Paolo, Cristiano!"_

"Ciao, Zuko," they call back, raising their cups in salute.

"Excuse me," Katara manages, already on her way over to Valentina's table.

"Relax, Kiara," Valentina says before she can speak. "Aang didn't tell him that you speak English. We told him not to."

Katara feels stupidly relieved. "What did you tell him?"

Valentina takes her time answering, tapping her gnarled fingers against the chess pieces. "There's always a kernel of truth in the best lies, Kiara. We just told him that you appeared here two months ago, and no one knows exactly where you are from, but we think you might go back there after the summer. I think that Paolo and Ricci might have said some other things. I don't know how much of it Aang was able to translate."

"Enough of it," Katara grunts. "You all should just stay out of my business."

"Stay out of your lie, you mean," Valentina corrects.

Katara swallows and casts a furtive look at Zuko, who's playing with his phone. "Fine. Okay, yes. But I can't tell him the truth," she says quietly. "I can't tell you why I can't tell him. Just that he told me something very personal that he wouldn't have if he knew I could understand him. And this whole mess is bad enough without anybody making it worse. So, please, don't make this any worse."

"Oh," Valentina says, eyes widening. "This is just like that time—"

"Don't," Katara begs. "Don't say anything about your soap opera right now."

"—when Felicia was hiding in the confessional booth, and the Dalai Lama admitted to being in love with her, with Felicia."

"Yes," Katara says, deadpan. "This is exactly like that time."

"And," Valentina continues. "She did not say anything because she did not want him to feel betrayed and foolish."

"A better analogy," Katara concedes. "Although strange to imagine the Dalai Lama in a Catholic confessional."

"He wasn't there for confession. He just ended up in the Vatican after his part in the whole EU butter mountain scandal. But I digress." She looks steadily at Katara, her expression dangerously mild. "There is another reason why Felicia did not tell the Dalai about what she had heard. And that was because she did not want him to think badly of her."

Katara needs a few seconds with that. "What? No. I don't really care what he thinks of _me,_" she says, and stoically weathers Valentina's blatant skepticism.

"Okay," Valentina says after an uncomfortable minute. "He's nice, though. Funny and interesting. He told us stories about his sister. One time—" She stops and shakes her head. "You are right. I will say no more."

"Thank you," Katara says, tamping down the part of her that immediately wants to know more about Zuko's sister. "And I won't tell Fredo about the two sneaky and high illegal moves you just made there."

"Then we understand each other," Valentina nods, face morphing into a picture of innocence when her husband comes out of the restroom.

Katara passes Zuko's table on the way back to the counter.

_"Forget about me?"_ he teases.

Soon, Katara hopes.

::

She thinks about Zuko later that evening, when she's lying on her bed and staring at the shadows on the ceiling. How it might have gone.

"Speako English?" Zuko says.

_"Better than you,"_ Katara snaps back, and maybe Zuko blushes, apologizes and suggests that they start again.

"Speako English?" Zuko says.

_"No, but you're in luck because I do speako fluent asshole,"_ Katara snaps back, and Zuko laughs, delighted.

"Speako English?" Zuko says.

_"Get the fuck out and never come back here again,"_ Katara snaps back, and Zuko does exactly that, and a few days later, Katara passes out in the elevator again.

But all the how-it-might-have-beens don't change the one how-it-went, and there's nothing she can do about that. If there was, then maybe she'd ask Zuko out on a date. They'd go for coffee or a walk or long lunch on a shaded street. Zuko's beautiful, and he's a lot of other things that Katara likes in boyfriends.

It's a pity, really, a lost opportunity, and she feels bad about the whole thing on a few levels. But she's also keeping a sense of perspective. She might feel guilty and disappointed, but summer will pass in another six weeks or so, and she will be back in Canada, getting on with her studies, and the rest of her life. She probably won't even think of Zuko.

She reaches to snap on the lamp and snag her book from the bedside table. The page falls open on the beginning of the next chapter, marked by the drawing Zuko had given her. It's beginning to curl a little at the edges, some of the lines becoming smudged. Katara might laminate it.

She probably won't think of Zuko _much_.

::

Her plan for Zuko to fade to a whimsical memory never really gets off the ground. It's not that she isn't doing her part; all of it is on Zuko, who seems to be elevating his game. The flirting is just downright embarrassing, for everyone concerned. He tacks on a _thank you,_ _lovely_ to every greeting, order, and goodbye. Katara wants to put her hands on her hips and object, but she has to settle for walking to kitchen and pressing her blush and her smile into the cool tiles.

"You're the one being weird," she mutters to herself.

"You certainly are," Roberto agrees.

Roberto likes Zuko; everybody does. Including, and this is a betrayal too far, Lucca. Katara almost drops the tray of pastries she's carrying when she walks out to Lucca parked happily on Zuko's hip, giggling and patting at the hard hat that Zuko has balanced on his little head.

"We have to keep him, Kiara," Lotta says. "Look! Look at my arms! They have not known this freedom in almost two years."

Katara can't help but feel a little put out. She had tried to hold Lucca one time, and was rewarded with what felt like a burst eardrum. The kid has a higher pitch than an industrial train whistle.

_"What is happening to your face,"_ Zuko says, laughing. _"Hey, Lucca, do you think she's jealous? Because you like me best? You do, don't you? Don't you, hmm?"_

Lucca babbles around the hand he has stuffed into his mouth, blowing spit everywhere, which just seems to charm Zuko even more.

_"You're really gross, my man,"_ he says admiringly, not even ducking away when Lucca slaps mushy fingers into Zuko's wild hair.

"Kiara," Valentina says, smirking. "Stop looking at the baby like you want to kill him."

"_So, hey, Lucs, will we go watch Valentina and Fredo play another game of chess?_" Zuko coos. "_Got to keep your eyes on the lady. She cheats like a boss, and Fredo mostly pretends not to notice. But hey, sometimes you've got to do that for your important person. Let the small shi...stuff slide. I mean, look at me. I ignore Kiara's nearly convincing hatred of me all the time._" He nuzzles into Lucca's temple, blows a raspberry against it. "_Actually, between me and you? I find it pretty hot. Just, don't tell her_."

Katara walks into the kitchen without looking back.

"Really weird," Roberto says when she passes by.

Katara just keeps her face pressed into the tiles. "It can't get any worse," she consoles herself.

Only it does. And Zuko isn't really doing anything other than being himself. He tips her in sketches, helps her fold napkins into a variety of animal shapes, and ponders the Sal/Annetta love story.

_"It's really not mutual, is it?"_ he says, almost sadly. _"He never looks back at her."_

"He never takes his head out of that laptop," Katara agrees.

_"If only he'd only take his head out of that laptop and see how she looks at him. She wouldn't even have to say anything. You can tell a lot by the way someone looks at you."_ He stares right at Katara when he says that, one corner of his mouth quirking up. _"You look at me like you like me. Not always, but now you do. You used to look at me like I was something unfortunate on your shoe. But not now. You like me now."_

Katara's making a disaster of her swan napkin. "I like you now," she says. "I like you very much now."

_"I don't even know what you're saying,"_ Zuko says, effortlessly whipping up a giraffe in less than six folds. _"But I love listening to you."_

"I love watching your hands."

_"You could be calling out your shopping list, and I'd still think it's beautiful. You know, carrots, chocolate, mayonnaise."_

"What would I even make with those three things?"

_"Although, I'm not sure what you'd make using those three things."_ Zuko tilts his head, chews on his lips. _"See? You're doing it again. Looking at me like you like me."_

"Kiara," Cristiano calls. "Can I please have a cappuccino?"

Katara sighs and gets up from where she's sitting at Zuko's table. "Hey," she says when she gets behind the counter. "So, I hear that you guys were using Aang as a translator when you were talking to Zuko last week."

Cristiano nods.

"And," she continues casually. "He was saying that he has a sister. Remind me, is she older or younger?"

"Valentina says she will kill anyone who tells you anything," Cristiano says, slicing his hand across his throat.

"Fine," Katara says sourly. "Get your own cappuccino." She shoves the milk jug across the counter and goes back to origami with Zuko.

::

It's not often that Katara gets two consecutive days off. They're not even great days, Tuesday and Wednesday, but they're together, so she's not complaining. She might go to Termini after she's taken her laundry from Roberto's dryer. She can get on a train, go somewhere. Anywhere. Just join the shortest line and get out of Rome for a bit.

"Hey," Aang calls. "What are you doing here?"

"Drive by visit," she answers, shaking the basket in her hands.

"Stay out of the elevator," Roberto roars from the kitchen.

"So, I met your Zuko," Aang says, smiling when Katara ducks her head a little. She turns his words over in her head: _your Zuko_. "He's nice."

"I know."

"You shouldn't be lying to him."

She sighs. "I know that, too."

"How long are you going to keep it up for?"

"Until he leaves," she admits. "Or I do. Whichever happens first."

"In that case," Aang says, looking over his shoulder. "It's just as well that we're speaking Italian. _Hi, Zuko. How are you?_"

Katara spins around, almost certain that Aang's ragging on her because it's only ten in the morning, and Zuko is never here this early. But he is here, walking towards them, sneakers on his feet instead of heavy work boots. He's wearing another pair of cargo shorts and a blue t-shirt. The hard hat has been left off, his hair soft and shiny, and he looks like he might if he weren't working.

_"Hi,"_ he says, looking from Katara to Aang. _"This is pretty good timing."_

Katara's not so sure.

_"You want a coffee?" _Aang asks.

_"No,"_ Zuko says, shaking his head. _"I'm not here for that. It's just that I remembered you said you were working today, and so I figured that Kiara wouldn't be. I thought if I hung around long enough, she might come in and you could help me ask her something?"_

_"Sure,"_ Aang says, casting a little evil eye in Katara's direction.

_"Okay,"_ Zuko says, suddenly sounding a little nervous. _"Well, I'm not working until later this afternoon, and I wanted to see if she'd go out with me this morning. Now, even. I have something we could do, but if she wants to do something else, I'm easy. Or if she's busy or not interested, that's cool, too."_ He wipes his palms on his shorts and wets his lips with his tongue, eyes never leaving Katara. _"If you, uh, could turn that ramble into something that makes me sound cool and interesting. I know I'm not giving you much to work with."_

_"Of course,"_ Aang says, giving Zuko a reassuring smile that fades when he turns to Katara. "Do you kick puppies in your spare time? Throw kittens into rivers? Pinch babies when their parents aren't looking?"

"I can't go," she says, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. "Tell him I can't go. Busy. Doctor, dentist, candle making class, coffin shopping. Any of those."

"Hell no, look at that face. I'm not breaking his heart. _Zuko, she said that she would love to go."_

Zuko squints at her. _"Really? She doesn't seem so sure."_

_"She's just surprised,"_ Aang says smoothly.

_"Okay. Cool. And can you tell her that I have to be back by about three to get ready for work. Like, I don't know, maybe I'll do this when we have to leave?"_ Zuko taps on his wrist, like he's asking the time.

"He really is very pretty," Aang says. "It'll be good for you to go out and have some fun. And maybe have an honest conversation."

Zuko looks between them again. _"Does she understand?"_

_"She understands perfectly,"_ Aang promises, taking the laundry basket and shooing them out the door.

::

Zuko doesn't say much after he leads them out onto the street. Even if they could talk, conversation is pretty much impossible as they jostle their way through the crazy crowds. They lose sight of each other a couple of times, and it's all Katara can do to hold onto her flip-flops.

She doesn't quite understand why they seem to be going further into the throngs rather than away from them. If she was in charge of this date, they'd maybe go the Garden of Oranges or the Baths of Caracalla. Perhaps lunch at _Le Jardin de Russie_. Away from the maddening crowds.

_"This way,"_ Zuko calls, jerking his head to the left, and Katara groans because she knows what that means. They're heading in the direction of the Colosseum, and she hopes that Zuko has had the foresight to buy skip-the-line tickets. Which, technically, are really join-the-shorter-line tickets, but it would cut their baking in the sun down to one hour instead of four.

They're maybe a five minute walk away, but it takes at least twenty to round the ruins, and when Zuko guides them beyond the entrance stalls and to the right, she realizes they're going to the Forum. It's definitely somewhere she'd rather be, even if it is no less packed.

_"Stay with me,"_ Zuko says, taking her elbow and squeezing them past the lines until they get to the ticket gates. _"Hey, Marco."_

"Ciao, Zuko," the guy behind the desk replies.

Zuko pulls an ID badge from one of his many pockets. _"I'm bringing a guest,"_ he says, nodding at Katara.

Marco nods and bends down to rummage around in a small basket. "Here," he says, throwing Katara a blue cord with a visitor's pass on it. She catches it and hangs it around her neck.

Zuko scans in, a little beep coming from the machine as he runs the barcode over it. _"Come on,"_ he says, holding the gate open. Katara looks around to a sea of hostile glares and grumbles from the tired and overheated lines, and she's never felt so 'I'm with the band' in her life. It's oddly thrilling.

_"This way,"_ Zuko says, coaxing her to the left, and walking them both up some steps. _"This is the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina. And this is the San Lorenzo in Miranda. It's a church. A pretty neat church. I work here."_ He raps twice on the heavy door, and a few seconds later it opens.

"Closed to the public," a short woman tells Katara.

_"Hi, Sabina,"_ Zuko says, leaning over so she can see him.

_"Ah, Zuko,"_ she says, stepping back. _"I thought you weren't working until this evening."_

_"I'm not. But I am showing off this morning."_ He walks inside and beckons for Katara to follow. _"This is Kiara. Don't speak to her. I'm trying to impress her."_

"Ciao, Kiara," Sabina says.

_"I said don't speak to her."_

Sabina grins mischievously. _"So, you don't want me to tell her about the time you got thrown out of here for eating your lunch in the sacristy, or the time that you almost took your eye out with a chisel, or the time that we tricked you into believing you damaged the Madonna frieze?"_

_"Exactly,"_ Zuko says with a firm nod. _"I do not want you to tell her any of those things. Don't ruin this for me, Sabina."_

"Welcome to San Lorenzo, Kiara," Sabina says. She's friendly and lively, and Katara likes her immediately. She also has a very impressive handshake. "You'll have to wear a hard hat. Safety regulations because we have scaffolding in the building. And stick close to our favorite American. Actually, right now, our only American."

"Zuko is the only American working here?" Katara says.

"We get plenty of overseas students to our sites," Sabina replies. "But he's the only one we kept longer than a couple of weeks. Great hands."

That makes Katara ache a little, the idea of Zuko being here alone, unable to make friends in a place with a high turnover of kids his own age. It has to be lonely for a guy like him.

_"I heard my name,"_ Zuko pipes up. _"What are you saying to her?"_

Sabina translates and Zuko's face relaxes. _"Oh, yeah,"_ he says, smiling at the compliment. He holds up his hands and looks at them approvingly. _"Best hands this side of the Tiber."_

_"And big head,"_ Sabina scoffs. _"Which needs a hat."_

_"Yes, ma'am,"_ he says with a smart salute. He disappears into a small room for a few seconds and returns with two hard hats, tossing one at Katara. _"Let's go."_

There are a lot of things that Katara isn't enjoying right now, namely the ball of guilt that's festering in her stomach. But there are other things she can't help but enjoy. Like this beautiful church and Zuko's enthusiasm for it. He points out markings and paintings, talking in hushed tones, giving a little history lesson for every piece they stop at. She's bowled over by how quickly he recites dates and details, like he has some sort of photographic memory for facts and figures.

He saves his biggest geek-out for the architecture. Katara has no idea what entablatures or doric imposts or archivolts are, but they certainly seem to delight Zuko.

_"And this is my favorite chapel,"_ he says. _"That's St. Francis of Assisi kneeling before the crucified Christ. It's a little historically inaccurate, but it's one of my favorites. It's definitely seventeenth century, and the artist was most likely either Giacinto Brandi or Happy Ottini."_

Katara stares at the painting, somewhat bemused by the idea of such a dark image being the work of someone called Happy.

_"Want to go see John the Baptist being beheaded?"_ Zuko asks, and Katara absolutely does.

They walk around for a couple of hours, Zuko's voice a constant in her ear. They're not the only people here, but the other restorationists don't give them much more than a cursory glance before going back to their work.

_"Just a couple more things I want to show you,"_ Zuko says, walking them to a large, and very solid, door. _"And you really have to know someone in the know to get to see this. So, you know, be impressed."_ He draws back the heavy bolt and Katara helps pull the door open.

"Woah," she says immediately.

"_Right?_" Zuko says, pleased.

The view is breathtaking, the whole Forum just laid out before them, a myriad of greens and whites laid out under a brilliant blue sky. It's so vivid that it almost looks fake.

_"You won't see anything more beautiful than this today,"_ Zuko says.

"That's just not true," Katara says, staring back at him. She's going to say more, but it's going to be in English, and most of it will be apologies for this big, dumb, horrible lie that's eating her alive. Maybe Zuko will forgive her. They're in the right place for miracles.

"Zuko," she says again, and then stops when a commotion starts from below them.

_"What the—"_ Zuko says, squinting at the guy who seems to be shouting at them in a language that Katara doesn't recognize.

The guy shouts louder, throwing a few wild gestures into the mix, and gets even more frustrated when he gets nothing back.

_"I think he's upset about something,"_ Zuko muses. _"Probably wants us to tell him how to get in here."_

The man roars something that sounds like it might be very rude, and then storms off, arms flouncing.

_"Yeah,"_ Zuko calls after him. _"Where's your church, peasant?"_

God. Katara has to turn around before Zuko catches her laughing.

::

The last thing that Zuko shows her is the showstopper. Katara recognizes the tiles instantly: the designs and patterns are the ones in Zuko's sketches, many of which she now owns.

_"This is my domain,"_ Zuko says, pointing to the floor. _"I know it's only about what, three meters squared, but I've been working on it for over a month. Under Sofia's very strict supervision. We take each tile out individually, and then we decide if we need to pack it up and send it away for repair, or if we can do it here ourselves. It's structural damage we're concerned with, not cosmetic. We only do one tile at a time, catalogue it, map it, and relay it before we lift the next. Might seem like slow work, but Sofia's motto is first, do no harm. And when you think back to how long this building is standing, well, it's barely a second."_

Katara crouches down and runs her hand over the old stone, imagining Zuko sitting for hours here, patiently chipping away at centuries old cement, his hands sure and careful as he works. She's going to say it now, she has to say it now, but when she looks up, Zuko is tapping his wrist, and it's time to go.

::

They take a detour on the way back, Zuko leading them through quieter streets until they reach a gelato store. _"We haven't got time for lunch,"_ he says. _"But this place has the best gelato in Rome."_ He puts his money where his mouth is, ordering a large waffle cone with three different flavored scoops, and then scoffs at Katara's sad looking sorbet. He also insists on paying, tutting in annoyance when Katara reaches for her own wallet.

They sit by the fountain and eat, faces tipped toward the sun.

Zuko's phone chimes from his pocket, and he sighs while fishing for it, setting everything else he takes out onto the wall beside them. _"It's my sister,"_ he says when he reads the message. _"She passed her driving test yesterday. Which is pretty shocking."_ He puts the phone down again without looking and knocks his notebook into the fountain.

"Zuko," Katara says, immediately sticking a hand in the water to try to get it, but it bobs out of reach.

_"Shit,"_ he says, reaching over to help. _"It's being sucked towards the middle."_

Katara had kicked off her flip-flops as soon as she sat down, so all she has to do is swing her legs over to step into the water. It's shockingly cold.

_"Hey, no, Kiara. Don't go in the water. It's just a dumb notebook. Ah, sweetheart, no. I've seen kids peeing in this very fountain. I don't even want the notebook back."_

Katara wades in further and loses her footing when the floor dips unexpectedly. She's down before she even realizes she's dropping, gasping when the water punches the breath out of her.

_"I'm coming,"_ Zuko is shouting, somewhat more dramatically than the situation warrants, and when Katara rubs the water out of her eyes, she can see him tugging his sneakers and socks off. "_I'm coming,"_ he roars again, and comes crashing in.

"Get out of here," Katara shouts, spitting what she really hopes is not pee-water out of her mouth. "What are you doing? Get out!"

_"Just hold on,"_ Zuko yells. _"I'm nearly there."_

"Stop running," Katara yells back. "You're going to—"

Fall.

_"Fuck,"_ Zuko says, wheeling his arms around him, like toddlers do when they're sitting in the bath. Katara can't help but laugh, and laugh louder when he surfaces and splutters and shakes his head like a dog.

"Idiot," she snorts, pushing herself to her feet.

Zuko grins back at her. _"Pretty sure you just called me an idiot, which is rude considering that I was trying to save your life. Again."_

"You didn't save it the first time, and I don't think I was in much danger of drowning in two feet of water. Come on. Let's get out of here." She holds out a hand and he grabs it, letting her pull him up. He wobbles a little, slumping against her side, and suddenly going very still. He's so close that she could count the water drops scattered across his cheekbones. Or maybe the ones resting on his eyelashes. There's just a lot to look at, this close up.

Zuko swallows, and Katara's eyes drop to watch his throat convulse. "Zuko," she says unsteadily.

Zuko leans in and kisses her, just a gentle press, resting his lips against hers. His eyes are huge and serious when he slowly pulls back.

"Zuko," she repeats and draws him in again, her hand cupping his head, tangling in his wet hair. This time Zuko moves his mouth, opening it to let her tongue in, catching it with his own. The shock of it makes Katara short circuit, and she holds on tighter, pushing back, kissing Zuko like she's finally speaking to him, like she'll never stop talking.

"Hey," someone shouts, and Katara is perfectly content to ignore it, but Zuko pulls away and they both turn their heads to the man shaking his fist at them from across the fountain.

_"Oh my god,"_ Zuko laughs, his hands still cupped around her waist. _"What is it with weird men doing that to us today."_

It's probably best not to wait to find out, so Katara grabs Zuko's wrist and they hop over the wall, bundling up their belongings. They leave wet footprints behind as they hightail it up a narrow side street.

_"Shit,"_ Zuko says again, and they're both laughing, bending at the waist to catch a breath. _"Hold it. I'm putting these back on before I stand on something and end up with blood poisoning."_ He stuffs his feet back into his shoes while Katara slips on her flip-flops.

"Sorry about your notebook," she says, handing the sodden mess of pulp over, but Zuko just laughs at it.

_"I would say it wasn't worth getting wet over, but given how things worked out, I think maybe it was."_ He points down the street behind her. _"It's that way to the shop, and I live this way," _he says, and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Mia casa."

Katara smiles to let him know that she understands, and Zuko smiles back at her, small and private. _"I wish I could bring you back, or go back with you, or I don't know. Something. I mean, I think that kiss was, you know, a thing we could do again. And not that it was just this weird moment that's gone now, and—"_

Katara ducks up to softly kiss him again.

_"Okay,"_ Zuko says, licking his lips. _"Roger that. We can do this again. Maybe tomorrow. So, bye."_ He gives her an awkward, stiff little wave, and Katara waves her fingers back gently before stepping away.

_"Wait,"_ he says quickly, and leans in again. _"One last kiss."_

Katara hopes not.

::

She's sitting on the steps outside her own building when Valentina comes out of the coffee shop.

"You're wet," Valentina says, taking a seat beside her.

"I am."

"How did that happen?"

"I was kissing Zuko in the fountain."

"Ah, well that would do it," Valentina says, nodding.

"Where's Fredo?"

"Helping Cristiano decide on a birthday gift for his mother."

They don't say anything more for a few minutes, until Katara blurts, "You were right."

"I usually am," Valentina says, smoothing out her long skirt. It's one of those crassly patterned things that makes Katara's eyes water when she looks at it for too long. "About what, exactly?"

"I did—I do—care what he thinks of me. I don't want him to think badly of me. I don't want him to hate me."

"Ah," Valentina says, almost sadly. "And he's going to?"

"Maybe," Katara says, laughing humorlessly. "Probably. But I have to tell him anyway."

"You think he'll be angry?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Yes," Valentina says quickly. Too quickly.

Katara sighs, feeling suddenly drained. She's really not cut out for a life of mass deception. "What would Felicia do?"

"Something stupid," Valentina answers, cheered by the idea. "She might write a letter, confessing everything, and then it would end up in the wrong hands. The hands of a blackmailer, who would want more and more money, like blackmailers do. And then poor Felicia would be forced into doing terrible things. Maybe she would sell her plasma. Or she might sell state secrets to an enemy government. To the King of Finland, perhaps. And then he would blackmail her for more secrets, but maybe what he really wants to know are secrets about the man who is blackmailing her."

"So, the second blackmailer would blackmail Felicia for information about the first blackmailer?"

"It would be a terrible mess," Valentina agrees. "Don't do any of that, Kiara. Don't be Felicia."

"I'll try my best," Katara promises her, and her smile doesn't reach her eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

She sits on the windowsill after her shower, drying herself and the contents of her wallet in the evening sun. There's a dull throb in her temples, her brain a mush of start-and-stop sentences.

\- _So, Zuko, funny thing._

\- _Okay, don't freak out, but I speak English._

\- _I'm not sure how to tell you this._

\- _Hey, I learned to speak English just for you. Yes, I'm a fast learner. The funny accent? My teacher was Canadian._

The problem isn't thinking up something to say, it's getting Zuko to stick around long enough to hear it.

Maybe Valentina is onto something with a letter. Zuko can't run away from a letter. It'll still be there when he calms down or grows curious or is ready for an explanation. And it might be Katara's best of limited options.

She climbs back into the room and shakes an order pad and pen from the pocket of yesterday's apron.

Then she starts writing, and she doesn't stop until it's done.

_Zuko_

_I can't count the amount of times I opened my mouth to speak to you in English today, but choked. Figuratively and literally. I just couldn't get the words out. I'm not that great with words, which you will see when you read on. Please read on._

_My name is Katara, and I'm not Italian. I'm from Canada. I didn't lie about my name. Kiara is just how Italian people pronounce Katara. I got used to it._

_I'm sorry. I don't want to make excuses. I let you believe a lie. That's totally on me. I just want to explain._

_When I first met you, I thought you were an asshole - PLEASE READ ON - and I didn't want to talk to you, so I let you think I couldn't. It was only when I got stuck in the elevator that I started to see you were pretty decent. But I really wasn't able to speak at all then. I was barely able to breathe. And when you said that you were glad I couldn't understand you, I didn't want you to feel embarrassed about what you said. So._

_You kept coming back. And I started to really like you but I was just getting more and more stuck. At first, I lied because I didn't like you, and then I lied because I didn't want you to feel bad. But eventually I was lying because I didn't want you to hate me._

_And I really think you might._

_I don't really know what else to say. Except I'm sorry, and I wish I could meet you again and start over._

_Here are some of the things I've wanted to say to you:_

_About what you told me in the elevator, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Except maybe the whale sounds. Those were horrifying._

_I've cried in the shower, too. Cried in public, also. For some reason the street musician around the corner always get me when he sings to his dog, even though I know he's just looking for tips._

_I think you're beautiful._

_I love your passion for what you do. And you are incredibly talented._

_I've seen how much butter Roberto puts in those cookie things. You might want to ease up on them._

_You make me laugh._

_Kissing you in the fountain was the most stupidly romantic thing that has ever happened to me in my life._

_I really like you, and no matter what happens after you read this, I will still really like you._

_Oranges are my favorite fruit. I'm so glad you keep them in your pockets._

_Ty Lee and your ex are a pair of assholes, who do not deserve you, or your loyalty._

_Feel free to show this letter to anyone you want and point at me while laughing, if you feel this would level up the playing field._

_And please forgive me._

_Katara_

It's not a great letter. Not even a letter, really. More a stream of consciousness. Words and guilt vomited on a page. But as her mother would say when she was sick as child, better out than in.

::

_"What are you doing here so early?"_ Aang asks her the following morning. _"Although I am happy to see you. My speaking exam is in two weeks. I need to use my English more."_

_"You're not the only one,"_ Katara sighs, pulling out a stool and hopping up to the counter. _"And your English is excellent. Especially as your third language."_

He pulls a face at the coffee beans. _"The conditional tense is killing me."_

_"If you had studied harder?"_

_"Then I would have passed the exam,"_ he finishes, smiling. _"How did your date go yesterday?"_

_"It would have gone better if?"_

_"You would have told him that you speak English."_

_"Perfect,"_ Katara says. _"Can I have a coffee? And where is everybody?"_ She looks around the empty shop. The door is open, a streak of white light reflecting off the clean tiles that haven't been walked on yet today.

_"They would be here if it was not nine am," _Aang answers, reaching for the larger mugs that Katara prefers to drink from.

_"Not decaf,"_ she says before he starts to pour. _"Maybe I'll have an espresso, too."_

_"That's a lot of caffeine,"_ he tuts, but he switches pots and fills her mug. _"You would not be so tired if you did not have a guilty conscience."_

"Thanks," she says, when the coffee is set down beside her. She puts the envelope on the marble countertop and twirls it around with her finger. The little _Zuko_ that she'd written in the center goes blurry as it spins.

_"What is that?"_ Aang asks.

_"A letter for Zuko, in English."_

His brows rise. _"The plot thickens."_

_"And your idioms are improving."_

_"I am taking to them like a duck to water."_

_"That's a simile. Here, will you put it under the counter? Keep it safe from nosy customers."_

Aang takes the letter and bends to put it on a shelf. "Ugh," he says. _"It's so messy down here. Does anyone ever clean these shelves?"_

_"Once in a blue moon, maybe,"_ she says.

_"Is that another idiom? I have not heard that one before."_

_"Yeah,"_ she says, taking a gulp of her coffee. _"It means not very often. Rarely. Like a blue moon, which is when there are two full moons in one month. I think the second one is the blue moon, even though it isn't blue in color."_

_"Interesting,"_ Aang says, rising again. _"We don't—"_ He cuts off, eyes widening as he looks past her.

"What?" Katara says, turning.

For a second, for the briefest of seconds, Katara is happy to see Zuko standing just inside the door, until she registers the sick, shocked look on his face. And then it hits her, hard.

"Zuko," she says, sliding from the stool. She takes a step forward, and then stops when Zuko takes one back.

_"I'm sorry,"_ she says, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. _"I was going to tell you. Today. I was, I promise. Just. Just give me a minute. Okay? I can explain. Do you want to sit down or anything? I could get you a coffee."_

Zuko tips his head back, his face a stunned sort of blank._ "You're sorry," _he croaks. _"You're sorry?"_

She inches forward and he takes another step back. He's almost at the door now, poised to bolt.

_"You've been lying to me all this time. For what? A joke? Some messed up game? Were you laughing at me the whole time?"_ He looks like he might throw up.

_"No,"_ she says desperately. _"No, please don't think that. I didn't mean for any of this to happen—"_

_"Oh, I see,"_ Zuko says sarcastically. _"You didn't mean it to happen. You just accidentally lied to me from the moment we met. And then you accidentally lied to me every time after that. The things I said to you, and you. You."_ He shudders out a breath that becomes a disbelieving laugh. _"What is wrong with you?"_

_"I've explained it in a letter,"_ Katara says, her hands still out helplessly. _"That I wrote. To you. If you just read it—"_

_"Does everybody here know what you've been doing? Are they all in on it? I brought you on that date, and the whole time you were—"_ He shakes his head, blinking rapidly.

_"Zuko,"_ she says, trying not to sound as desperate as she feels. _"If you just read the letter—"_

_"I don't want to read your stupid letter,"_ he says, louder now. _"You know what, fuck your letter. You were expecting some letter would just fix everything? You weren't going to even tell me to me face?" _He makes it sound like insult has been added to injury.

"Zuko," she pleads, utterly lost. This was not how any of this was supposed to go.

He scrubs his hands through his hair. _"Don't talk to me,"_ he says, and it's cold, final. He spins around and walks out the door.

Katara stares after him, frozen.

"I'm sorry," Aang says quietly, and she's reminded that he's still standing at the counter, jolting her out of the spiraling panic of staring after Zuko. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No," she says shakily. And that reminds her that other people are going to be here soon, wanting things, and she just can't stomach the thought of facing them. "I'm going next door. If Zuko comes back, can you call me immediately?"

To his credit, Aang doesn't laugh at her wishful thinking. "Of course. If he comes, I'll call right away."


	5. Chapter 5

The rational part of Katara knows that Zuko isn't coming back. But the stupidly hopeful part of her refuses to give up, and is crushed over and over every time the door opens and Zuko doesn't walk through it.

"Mope somewhere else," Valentina suggests when Katara takes to hovering near the window. "Your sad is putting me off my game."

"Leave the girl alone," Fredo scolds. "Her heart is broken."

"Just like the Madre Superiore when her husband was abducted by aliens," Ricci laments. "She was so sad that she became a nun."

"Maybe Kiara should take holy orders," Paolo muses.

"Or maybe she should talk to us," Annetta says gently. "Tell us what she is feeling."

It would be a pretty short conversation. Awful, is the general idea. And Katara's not sure how to unravel that ball into individual threads, so she leaves it as it is, a big weight that sits heavily in her chest. She doesn't sleep well, doesn't want to eat much, doesn't do much with her nights other than stare at Zuko's sketches, doesn't really care that her life is loudly narrated around her, like she's on the TV, and not actually standing there.

The only person she wants to talk to is Zuko, and the only way she can is through notes that she stuffs into the envelope that now lives on the shelf under the counter.

::

_Zuko,_

_We all miss you here at Roberto's. It's not really the same without you. Valentina and Fredo barely even shout at each other anymore. Lucca watches the place where you used to sit and seems confused. And Lotta tries to kill me with her eyes. Cristiano organized a thumb-wrestling tourney, which he won. But I think that's because no one really tried to beat him. The prize was his gold bracelet. Roberto is complaining about all the leftover biscotti._

_I'm still sorry._

_Katara._

::

_Zuko,_

_Someone sat at your table today. I tried to get him to move, but he wouldn't. So I got him to leave instead. He caved more easily than you did. He called me the worst waitress in Rome while he was storming out the door. I think you would have enjoyed that. You definitely would have enjoyed how much Roberto shouted at me afterwards. But, I just didn't like someone sitting where you did, so I've turned it into a station. I keep the napkins and the jugs and the cutlery there, and it Lotta says it's like I've hung a black ribbon on it. Cristiano said that was really sad and then offered me a loan of his bracelet to cheer me up._

_In other news, my swan napkins still suck._

_I hope you're doing okay._

_Katara_

::

_Zuko,_

_Big excitement in Roberto's today. Valentina has finally had a storyline accepted for this crazy soap opera that they all love here. She's keeping very tight lipped about the details, but I did catch something about a pregnancy, the theft of the Sistine Chapel by Martians, and a girl with very buff arms. Which I think is pretty much standard fare for this show, so I'm not even sure how she got her idea to stand out. I guess we'll see. Anyway, there was prosecco and I wished you were here to share it._

_Katara_

"Kiara," Annetta says. "Did you hear me?"

Katara hms vaguely, trying to avoid Annetta's big, earnest eyes. She doesn't need anything else to feel bad about.

"You should talk to us. We are your friends, and not talking is what started all this—" She's cut off by Cristiano bursting through the door so hard that it almost comes off the hinges.

"Kiara," he gasps, and then bends double, completely winded.

"You okay there?" Katara asks.

Cristiano nods, his hands clenching his knees, sweat streaking across his red face.

"I think he's having a heart attack," Paolo says. "Are you having a heart attack, Cristiano?"

"No," Cristiano huffs, shaking his head wildly. "Zuko."

Katara's heart judders violently in her chest. "Zuko?"

"Yes." Cristiano points to the door and she jerks towards it. "No," Cristiano says, waving his hands like he's batting a flying insect away. "Not here."

"You saw Zuko?" Katara says. Cristiano nods again while gulping gratefully from the glass of water Ricci has brought him. "And you ran all the way here?"

Cristiano gives her a thumbs up and falls into a chair. His breathing is now only a little more labored than Katara's.

"Did you speak to him?" Valentina asks.

"Yes. More water please." He's enjoying the theatrics, putting on a little show for the assembled crowd that scooches closer. Katara might add to the drama by throttling him if he doesn't start speaking soon.

"So," Cristiano says, dabbing at his brow. "I was walking down by Piazza di Maria Nova and I saw Zuko there. There's a little market nearby and I wanted to buy some tomatoes for the bolognese sauce I'm making on the weekend. It's my mother's birthday and the whole family is coming—"

"Cristiano," Katara pleads.

"Okay," Cristiano sighs, taking another sip of his water, and if needs must Katara will shake the story from him. "So, I saw him and he saw me, and we said hello. He looked well, but he wasn't smiling. He was like Zuko when he first came in here, angry and scowling."

Katara adds that image to the list of others that keep her awake at night.

"I said to him that you were sad, Kiara. That you miss him and you don't sleep and you don't laugh and you write sad poems in your notepad all day. But he couldn't understand any of that."

Thankfully, Katara thinks.

"So, I point to myself and say 'Kiara' so that he'll know that I'm being you, Kiara."

"Oh god," she mutters.

"And then I did this." Cristiano buries his head in his hands and sobs wildly, his whole body shuddering. The noise startles the quiet room and is quite mortifying. "See?" Cristiano grins, extraordinarily proud of himself. "And then I asked him if he had a message for you. He understood that. Maybe message is similar in English?"

Katara nods dumbly.

Cristiano nods back. "He said yes, message for Kiara."

"What was it?" she asks, heart thumping along hopefully.

"This," Cristiano says, lifting his two fists like he's a boxer, and then springing both middle fingers up.

That's not even the worst of it. The worst of it is when Katara immediately asks, "But did he say anything else?"

Turns out, no.

::

_Zuko,_

_I keep thinking about how open you let yourself be, how you lay everything out there. It's one of my favorite things about you. And then I think about how you've been let down, by your friend and your ex and your dad, and me. I'd hate to think that this would make you more wary or guarded. What I mean is—don't change who you are because of who I was. Not that that's who I am._

_Katara_

::

On the morning of her next day off, Katara goes to the Forum. It's a really idiotic time to go, peak crowds and peak sun, but she's itchy and can't wait until the evening to scratch. The mobs are every bit as big and sprawling as she'd feared and by the time she gets to scan her ticket she's hobbling on bruised feet and down twenty euros for four bottles of tepid water.

"Would you like to join our tour?" an American lady asks her. Katara shakes her head. She knows where she's going and she walks there without pausing, skipping up the steps and rapping heavily on the door of the church.

Sabina answers after a few minutes and regards her coolly.

"Hi," Katara says, swallowing dryly. "Is Zuko working today?"

For a long moment she thinks Sabina isn't going to answer her, that she might just stay there and watch her squirm in her own shame and discomfort.

"Wait," Sabina says eventually, and closes the door again.

Katara huffs out a breath. This is good, she thinks, beginning to shift on her sore feet. Zuko is here, and he'll come to the door, and Katara's going to talk. Beg, if necessary, for a chance to explain, and Zuko can do with that what he will. Even if he does tell her to fuck off at the end of it, at least he'll do so knowing that she was dumb but not cruel. That Zuko isn't a joke to her.

Her chest gets tight when she hears the bolt pull down, but it's Sabina who appears again.

"Closed to the public," she says tartly, then slams the door in Katara's face.

Katara stares at it numbly for so long that other people gather around to see what she's looking at.

::

"I guess I thought he would have calmed down enough to even just hear me out," Katara tells Valentina later. They're sitting on the steps outside Katara's building watching Rome quiet down for the evening, tired tourists ambling by slowly, swinging bags of trinkets and souvenirs.

Valentina sucks noisily at the dregs of her frappuccino. "You thought that? Even after Cristiano's message?"

"I don't know," Katara shrugs. "Maybe I just thought that if he saw me…" She shrugs again, looking down at her hands. "I hoped it would be different."

Valentina bumps her shoulder companionably. "And what now?"

Katara shakes her head. "Nothing. He told me he doesn't want to know me to my face. And then he told me again through Cristiano, and a third time through Sabina. He's made it crystal clear and I have to respect that."

Valentina nods in agreement. "I'm sorry, Kiara. I wish I could help you."

It kind of makes Katara feel even worse, to know that Valentina can't even compare this to one of her ridiculous soap opera storylines. Like not even Felicia would be crazy enough to find herself in a situation this dire and dreary.

::

_Zuko,_

_It's quiet in here today. Has been all day, which is making time drag. The regular guys are all missing. I think they might all be gone to Cristiano's mom's birthday party. He's been talking about making a pot of his special sauce. Apparently, the trick is pickled apricots? He's promised to keep me a bowl and I've promised myself not to eat it_—

She glances around when the door opens, double taking when she sees Zuko standing there.

Zuko, and Valentina, Fredo, Paolo, Ricci, Cristiano, Annetta, and Lotta holding a stroller that Lucca is sleeping in. Plus Sabina and an old lady that Katara has never seen before.

But she mostly looks at Zuko. And the envelope he's holding in his hand. The same envelope that Katara last saw under the counter.

There's a lot of shuffling as everyone piles in, all of them jostling for position behind Zuko, trying to find the best view.

"Kiara," Zuko says when it's silent again. "Since I am meeting you, I am learning Italian for speaking with you. It was for surprising you."

Katara swallows painfully, feeling like her chest might just crack open.

"I am want to saying things to you. For example, will you like to go out with me for food and beverages. And how many peoples are in your family. And do you like the music. And do you like visit America. And you have eyes beautiful. I want to saying that I like you very much."

"Thank you," Katara says quietly, completely overwhelmed and insanely touched. "Your Italian is very—"

Zuko holds up a hand to silence her. "But now I have something else for saying to you. You making me feel bad and sad, and I am most displeased. You are not for trusting, and I never wanting to sees you again. I hopes Canada never winning a gold medal Olympics and you are a pig's spade."

"I gave him that one," Cristiano says, clearly pleased with himself.

"Shhh," Valentina hisses.

"But they peoples give me this," Zuko continues, shaking the envelope in his hand. Katara has never been so grateful for this bizarre gathering of interfering, nosy, liberty-taking, impossible, amazing busybodies in her life.

"And," Zuko says. "I read it. No, I—"

"_We can finish this in English,_" Katara says. "_And somewhere more private, if you like._"

Zuko shakes his head, a stubborn look on his face. So they're doing it here, like this. Katara's going to have to stand up and take her licks.

And she will, happily.

"I am crazy with angry still," Zuko says. "But I am understanding. I am knowing you are sorry. And I forgiving you. And Sabina is saying something now."

Sabina gives Katara a cheery wave. "If you ever do anything like this to Zuko again, we are burying you under the tiles in the church and they will not find you until the next restorations in two hundred years."

"Yes," Zuko nods.

"Okay," Katara says, taking a cautious step forward.

"Kiss him, you fool," Fredo demands.

"I'm trying to," Katara hisses back. God. "Is is okay if I—" She gestures to the space between her and Zuko.

"Wait," Zuko says, shaking his head. "One, two, three."

On the three, everyone points a finger at Katara, and laughs. Loudly, and rudely, and for far longer than necessary. Katara rolls her eyes but doesn't dare complain. Especially as it's making Zuko smile for the first time tonight.

He waves the envelope again, and yeah, Katara didn't just give him permission, she gave him the idea. "Okay, okay," she says, sardonic. "Very funny." The old lady is still fake laughing like a crazed hyena. "Who are you?" Katara asks her.

"Ah," Cristiano says. "This is my mother. Today is her birthday."

"Oh. Happy birthday," Katara says. "I hope you are having a nice day."

"Thank you," she says, beaming. "This is the most exciting birthday I've had in many years. Every year we sit in the garden and eat Cristiano's shitty sauce. But this year, I got taken to a beautiful church by all these lovely people. We were on a mission. I got to see your boy being very upset and tearing up all the letters. The lady who works there put them back together because she speaks English and I helped with the tape. Then she translated them for us. Ricci was crying. And when your boy eventually read them, he could not speak at all." She clasps her hands to her chest. "It was like being in a movie."

"That's...great?" Katara says slowly, and turns her attention back to where it most wants to be. On Zuko. She walks slowly towards him, ready to back off if he moves away. But he doesn't; he stays just as he is until Katara gets to him.

"I'm sorry," she says, reaching to thread a hand into Zuko's hair, pulling him closer, just wanting to bury her nose into the crook of his neck and breathe him in. "_I'm sorry_."

"_I know_," Zuko says, sliding his own hands to her waist, clutching fistfuls of her shirt. "_Now, give the people what they want and kiss me._"

Katara does, and the sudden applause makes her laugh into his mouth. She loves the taste of it.

"_Hi,_" she says when Zuko draws back.

"_Hi,_" he grins back at her, and they probably look like goofy idiots smiling dumbly at each other.

"Okay," she calls, hands and eyes still on Zuko. "Everyone out."

She leans in to kiss him again. "The show is over."


	6. Epilogue

"Zuko," Katara calls. "Come on." She hooks the cable from the laptop to the TV and flops back onto the sofa. "Zu Zu!"

"I'm waiting on the popcorn," he calls back. "And I should never have given you Azula's number."

She snorts and kicks her feet up. She looks around and once again marvels at how someone so in love with classical beauty and art history can actually have the worst taste in interior design.

None of the furniture matches, the rug around the fire would offend any person with working eyes, and the little Christmas tree is so smothered in tinsel that she wonders if it's even green. But she loves being here, with Zuko, in his space. Likes it even better now that his roommate has already left for the holidays and they have the place to themselves for the next two days before flying on to her family.

She helped Zuko choose this small apartment not long after they came back from Italy, when he realized that he liked his family better with a bit of distance between them but not a whole ocean. And when he realized how much he liked the combination of Katara and privacy. It's still his hometown, but it's on the other side of the city and only a block from his campus, and it's all theirs on the weekends when Katara drives down from her university.

Zuko's bare feet slap on the wooden floor as he crosses the room and lunges over the back of the sofa. Katara gets a knee in the stomach and a lapful of popcorn that crunches unpleasantly when Zuko settles on top of her.

"Sorry," he says, laughing softly in her ear. "I'll kiss it better later. Again."

Katara huffs and tries to seem annoyed. Encouragement will only result in more unexpected colonizations of her lap. "You burned the popcorn? Do you remember the time I showed you the popcorn button on the microwave?"

Zuko wrinkles his nose. "Do you remember the time you lied to me about not speaking English?"

"Still dining out on that?" she says, her tone teasing and her hands gentle as she brushes his hair behind his ear. It's getting long and shaggy; yesterday she snuck onto his phone and deleted his reminder to get a haircut, and she doesn't feel bad about it at all.

"I'll never go hungry," he says, smiling back. He's a holy terror with that smile.

Katara kisses him, because there's just never a good reason not to, because she always wants to. His mouth moves soft on hers, his fingers sweeping down her arm, probably trailing butter and salt everywhere. When she pulls back his eyes are dark and interested, and she's suddenly feeling optimistic about a, um, early bedtime. She drags her thumb across his bottom lip and sighs when he turns his head into her palm, fitting his cheek into her hold.

"You sure you don't want a _nap_ before we watch it?" he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and she laughs.

"Watching first." She shifts until he catches on and slides to wedge himself between the her back and the sofa. "Valentina is going to keep emailing me until we do."

He snorts. "I can't believe she's actually writing for a TV show."

"I can't believe people actually watch this show," she grumbles, reaching over to press play on the laptop.

"We good for dinner with my family before we head off to Christmas in the land that sun forgot?" he asks as the opening credits begin playing on the TV screen.

"You do know that it's just as cold here as in Canada right now? And sure. I can deal with your family glaring at me for a couple of hours because I'm making you emigrate for a week."

"Just wait until they find out that you're dragging me back to Europe for a year after graduation," Zuko says, and casually adds, "Mai and Ty Lee will probably be at dinner. You okay with that?" His hand slips down and curls around her body, settling them together.

Katara's never okay with those two being anywhere near them. They've only met a handful of times and she found the whole being-civil thing exhausting.

_"I think you disliked me from the first time you met me," Mai said the last time they were forced to share geography._

_"That's not true," Katara protested. "I disliked you long before that."_

"I'm okay with it," she tells Zuko, backing her words up with a comforting squeeze to his hand on her stomach. "As long as you are."

"I don't really care," he says. "I have a much better girlfriend and best friend now. You're a twofer, Katara. So, catch me up with this."

"That's Felicia," Katara says when the impossibly beautiful woman comes on screen. "Valentina's heroine. And that's her husband, Luigi, who also happens to be her half twin brother. Wait, I'll put the subtitles on for you."

"Half twin?" Zuko says, sitting up a little and reaching for the popcorn.

"It's a real thing, apparently. Happened to Sal's cat."

"But he's at least twenty years older than her," Zuko muses, chewing loudly.

"That's because Felicia was dead for twenty years, cryogenically frozen in the dome of St. Peter's until there was a chemical explosion that defrosted her and melted Papa Dino's face."

"Wow," he says. "That's awesome. How did I not know this thing existed? What did I tell you about keeping things from me? Who's this guy?"

"The secret King of Finland. And that's his lovechild, Hans, leader of the Swiss Guard. He's also the late husband of the Mother Superior, but she doesn't know that he's not actually dead. He's just been abducted by aliens and is now their main source of communication with earth. It looks like he's praying but he's really transmitting vital information that's bouncing off satellites, all the way to Mars."

"Amazing," Zuko marvels. "And what about this rather strange looking muscular lady? Who's she?"

"She's new," Katara says, frowning at the TV. "And I also have no idea who this tiny guy is, either."

Only five minutes later, she knows exactly who both of them are. "Oh no, no, no," she says, horrified. "I'm a man. She made me a man."

"Yeah," Zuko drawls. "You think you have problems? Have you seen the bald-ponytail combo on this woman? Why is she making that face so much? And why is she _named after my sister?"_

"Azula does sound kind of Italian," Katara says absently. "What, I do not look like that!"

"I don't know," Zuko says. "I think it's pretty accurate. The flowing locks are kind of doing it for me. Even if the shrieky voice is a little intimidating."

She pinches him. "Watch it or you're losing _nap_ privileges. I can't watch."

"I can't look away," he says. "Okay, I love Valentina, but this is kind of insane."

To put it mildly. Not much is known about Kiaro, who appears to have taken a vow of silence and spends his days serving coffee to the papal elite while looking towards the camera thoughtfully when anything important is said. Azula is much more out there, loud and cheerful and charming everybody with her quick smile. She's an architect, commissioned by the pope to rebuild the Sistine Chapel, and quickly, too. That hologram isn't going to fool people for much longer. Sooner or later, someone is bound to find out that the aliens stole it.

The closing scene features Kiaro and Azula—ugh, Katara can't think that, is Valentina trying to torture her by naming her alternate self's love interest after her boyfriend's sister? The scene features Kiaro and _ripped-female-Zuko_ meeting for the first time. They're hurrying past each other when they collide, sending ripped-female-Zuko's purse to the ground.

"Pardon," Kiaro says, and they bend to pick up the scattered contents. At the same time, they reach for a piece of paper that turns out to have a pencil drawing of a man's torso that cuts off right about where things go from risqué to illegal. Their eyes meet, their lips part, and they breathe heavily while romantic music starts to play in the background.

"Oh," Zuko gasps. "This is gold."

"Have we met before?" Kiaro asks RFZ, who bites her lip, looking guilty. "It's just that you are so beautiful."

Zuko loses it, laughing so hard that he gives himself a stitch and Katara a painful kick on the shin.

"Hey," she says, a little offended on RFZ's behalf.

Kiaro continues, "And you remind me of a girl that I met a few months ago, someone that I spent an illicit night of passion with after too much wine." He turns to the side and murmurs, "Someone with graphite smudges on her fingers and love in her soul…"

"Ha," Zuko barks. "There could not be enough wine."

"Shut up," Katara huffs. "She's not that bad."

"I'm very grateful that you can overlook her faults, honey."

"It was a difficult time for me," RFZ is saying. "My father was a drug lord, who had wronged a very bad man, and I was being forced to marry his ugly stepson."

"Hold it," Zuko says. "That sounds vaguely familiar."

Onscreen, RFZ has grabbed her purse back and is storming off, head bowed. Kiaro is frowning after her. "Wait," he says, bending again to pick up something from the ground. "You dropped this." RFZ's walk becomes a run and the angle switches to a close up of Kiaro's hand. The music gets louder as a positive pregnancy test is revealed. When the camera pans out again, Kiaro is looking off into the distance, shocked and dismayed.

"Valentina, do not make me an absent father!" Katara shouts, jabbing back at Zuko with parental ardency.

"Watch it," Zuko complains, patting his stomach. "Mind the baby."

"Which had better be mine," she cackles, turning around and climbing to straddle his thighs. His face is flushed, his eyes are bright, and she is so fucked, in the best of ways. "I have so many questions, the most important being, just how ugly is this drug lord's son. I mean, what kind of competition am I dealing with?"

Zuko grins up at her. "Aw, don't pout. I'd still totally do you."

"I'm blessed to have you," she says flatly.

"You are," he snorts. "So, when's the next episode on? I'm definitely keeping up with this storyline. Can Valentina send links for earlier seasons?"

"Probably," Katara sighs. "Although you know that things will get worse for Kiaro and ripped fe—uh, Azula. I can guarantee some sort of blackmail will be involved, and when Valentina eventually runs out of crazy ideas, we are likely doomed to spend eternity together buried in some forgotten tomb."

Zuko's face softens, his smile gentling into something fond and affectionate. "Forever, huh?" He cups the back of her head, her elbows pressing into the cushions on both sides of his head.

She leans down to kiss him, light and close. "After we die gruesomely."

"Yeah," Zuko whispers, his mouth brushing against hers. "But. Together, forever. I like that part."

Katara pulls him closer.


End file.
